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Wiche was nearby. He saw him after some of the warriors that stood between them cleared the view. They locked eyes, savage like animals, hateful like enemies, yet friendly like family. This rivalry of theirs had gone too far for too long, and now would be a good time to slightly ease the tension. With a nod, both of them were thinking the same. Stepping aside, they both disposed of their blanket and instead, began warming up by either flapping their arms around or attempting stretches that simply wouldn’t quite work. Wikus did the first, as Wiche did the latter. Personally, Wikus hated the notion of stretching before doing exercise – it was just not meant to be. He thought it was better to do so afterwards, for the muscles are hot and far more tense than usual, the stretch giving them a remedy. Instead, Wikus warmed up his hips by shaking them to the sides and decreasing the height by bending his legs, for there was a lesson to be taught to Wiche.
Finally, they both met in the middle of an imaginary battleground drawn on the snow. They may have been bathed, but that was more ceremony than actual use – the ash would take care of the smell and any grease the skin segregated, which ultimately meant they could sweat as much as they liked. It didn’t matter that they were stark naked, even if they were about to fight before the rest of the warriors. They only had eyes for each other. Wiche, which was three winters older than him, was also more impatient. Assuming his square stance, he’d give out a hand towards his adversary. Wikus, on the other hand, assumed a staggered stance – an aggressive one. Wrestling was all about the stance, and the hips. That was all the summary needed to perform properly. Feet shoulder width apart, he’d bend his knees until his forearms were able to rest on his thighs, the back slightly angled as the chest lightly came up, right foot moving in front in which his whole weight rested completely. While Wikus wasn’t going to play aggressively, it was more of a psychological technique to use against his impatient adversary. Wiche had the advantage of being shorter in height, which was far preferred in wrestling as the point of gravity was lower, while taller wrestlers had theirs higher and were generally easier to be thrown down. Wikus had longer limbs, which allowed for a better reach. It was going to be a challenge he gladly accepted.
Without pity nor any kind of honor, Wikus would slap the offered hand that was meant to be a salute out of respect and, planting his left hand on Wiche’s right shoulder, a harsh right forearm flew behind his opponent’s neck in order to attempt to push down. As expected, Wiche’s head attempted to counter this by bringing his head up, a mistake that costed him dearly, for as soon as his level was inferior to Wikus’, the head of the latter would impact against his opponent’s chest after a quick step forth thanks to his attack stance, and using both hands that positioned themselves behind the confused man’s knees, he’d keep driving with his head as he pulled the legs, Wiche being completely defenseless and eventually falling on his back on the snow – a beautiful takedown for Wikus.
Wiche was angry. It mattered none – he was a loser, and the losers don’t matter. Standing up, he’d return to the ring. Once again they’d assume their corresponding stances, heads about to collide due to the immediate proximity that required this sport. Even killing was a sport, for some. A grunt served as the beginning of a second round, Wiche still playing defensively as Wikus thought – not only impatient, but also a coward. Wiche usually took everything out in the last occasion, always trying to make up for his doubts. He was certainly more skilled and experienced in wrestling, yet hindered by his weak psychological strength. His motions were more fluid and precise, unlike Wikus’ standard techniques or improvised moves. There was time to perfect his motions. The beginning of the second round was somewhat tense, as none of the two fighters were distracted. Moving around constantly was in play now, trying to adhere to the opponent’s positioning as much as serving as a defense of the strategies that were undergoing in their head. The feet stayed in motion, yet Wiche’s doubts seem to have waned enough for him to attempt a shoot. A shoot was a motion in which an attacker attempts to take the hold of the leading foot of the opponent. Wikus countered this by merely keeping his head in the way as an obstacle, said member being the first line of defense against an attack. It worked for now, and Wikus began planning a strategy that was never to be completed, as Wiche once again attempted a shoot, yet this time using a double feint that Wikus was impossible to predict – the fluid motion being impossible to follow through the eyes of the novice.
Quickly, Wiche wrapped his left arm down Wikus’ right leg as his head pressed against the front of his thigh, locking him in place and began driving forth in order to send him down on his back. Thankfully, Wikus had enough time to do a harsh sprawl, a defense mechanism that relied on the last barrier before the ground: the hips. Without quite being a jump, Wikus would drive his hips forth as he dropped his whole body weight on top of the male’s upper back, which caused the opponent to lose the hold on his leg and therefore allowing Wikus to arch his legs as further back as they could, covering both width and distance as they also flared out until they reached their stretching limit. Wiche couldn’t do a thing now, trapped under the bodyweight of Wikus’ body and furthered by the strength of the core muscles of the man that stood on top. He retreated, and Wikus regained his stance. Height had also an advantage in that department, the sprawl being far more effecting when one had longer limbs. Every inch counted.
Before letting his opponent take the lead thanks to his experience, Wikus went all in. He attempted to get underneath, something his rival wouldn’t let him as his head was blocking his entrance. Their arms joined, somewhat fighting for control on whom had the best grip on the opponent’s triceps, Wikus losing his patience almost immediately to instead back away and harshly push on his rival’s head, a movement perfectly valid yet not that respected. Wiche was slightly pushed back indeed, but he returned to instead manage a collar lock on Wikus – that being his forearm pressing down on Wikus’ back of the neck in order to attempt to push him down. Moving away now would be fatal, even if instinct dictated so. If he was to pull back, the motion of his rival would be even stronger, and he’d be able to pin him down with a head lock. Instead, he used his hips to attempt a drive through onward towards the male, head pressing against the chest which both penetrated the enemy’s defenses and nulled the oppression behind his neck. Using the feet whom pushed him onward, he’d gently shake the male not with the intention to knock him aside, but instead bring on forward his opponent’s left leg – something he hoped for as now, his right leg being the leading, he was able to shoot relatively easy.
Wrapping his right arm down the opponent’s left leg, pressing his shoulder against his hip and, thrusting upward with his legs, he’d pull the rival’s leg off the ground as he himself stood on his both feet. He had two choices now, either push him to the left or to the right. Pushing him to the right would be easily a win – if he didn’t defend himself. He could wrap his feet around him and bring him down to finish with a pin, something he wouldn’t allow. Instead, he chose to push him to the left. Having his leg wrapped up between both arms, doing pressure with his chest on the calf muscle and with his armpit on the ankle, he’d perform a sweeping motion as if he was hurling a rock over his head down to the ground, Wiche falling to the side yet still standing on his one leg, hands going to the snow to stop his fall and push him back up. Perfect. As the rival rose, Wikus’ right foot did too, kicking the back of the knee of the remaining leg of his opponent to send him straight to the ground. A second round for him.
Wrestling was, once again, all about the hips, for they were the last defense and the last attack both. While attacking could be done in many ways, defending could be done in an order. Moving around was first, but it was bound to be ineffective as you cannot really attack and evade at the same time. The heads were the first defense, blocking the enemy’s advance throughout simple presence and annoyance. The second line were the hands that could push or offer some struggle towards the opponent. If they were penetrated, the forearms came next. But after the forearms, only the hips remained to push a man through the attack. Brute force along with patience wielded great rewards for wrestlers. That, and endurance.
They were novices still, and their wrestling was slow. Experts would take any of them down in less than a moment, fights between experts being quick and improvised to the point of losing every breath in a matter of ticks. Both Wikus and Wiche trained wrestling frequently, yet they never spared together or even trained together. Each one of them had different teachers, and different schedules. It was good motivation to keep pushing onward. As the third round was about to begin, a friendly whistle warned them of the situation. It was their turn to bathe in the ashes, as if soon to be born again.
Early Afternoon
Wiche was nearby. He saw him after some of the warriors that stood between them cleared the view. They locked eyes, savage like animals, hateful like enemies, yet friendly like family. This rivalry of theirs had gone too far for too long, and now would be a good time to slightly ease the tension. With a nod, both of them were thinking the same. Stepping aside, they both disposed of their blanket and instead, began warming up by either flapping their arms around or attempting stretches that simply wouldn’t quite work. Wikus did the first, as Wiche did the latter. Personally, Wikus hated the notion of stretching before doing exercise – it was just not meant to be. He thought it was better to do so afterwards, for the muscles are hot and far more tense than usual, the stretch giving them a remedy. Instead, Wikus warmed up his hips by shaking them to the sides and decreasing the height by bending his legs, for there was a lesson to be taught to Wiche.
Finally, they both met in the middle of an imaginary battleground drawn on the snow. They may have been bathed, but that was more ceremony than actual use – the ash would take care of the smell and any grease the skin segregated, which ultimately meant they could sweat as much as they liked. It didn’t matter that they were stark naked, even if they were about to fight before the rest of the warriors. They only had eyes for each other. Wiche, which was three winters older than him, was also more impatient. Assuming his square stance, he’d give out a hand towards his adversary. Wikus, on the other hand, assumed a staggered stance – an aggressive one. Wrestling was all about the stance, and the hips. That was all the summary needed to perform properly. Feet shoulder width apart, he’d bend his knees until his forearms were able to rest on his thighs, the back slightly angled as the chest lightly came up, right foot moving in front in which his whole weight rested completely. While Wikus wasn’t going to play aggressively, it was more of a psychological technique to use against his impatient adversary. Wiche had the advantage of being shorter in height, which was far preferred in wrestling as the point of gravity was lower, while taller wrestlers had theirs higher and were generally easier to be thrown down. Wikus had longer limbs, which allowed for a better reach. It was going to be a challenge he gladly accepted.
Without pity nor any kind of honor, Wikus would slap the offered hand that was meant to be a salute out of respect and, planting his left hand on Wiche’s right shoulder, a harsh right forearm flew behind his opponent’s neck in order to attempt to push down. As expected, Wiche’s head attempted to counter this by bringing his head up, a mistake that costed him dearly, for as soon as his level was inferior to Wikus’, the head of the latter would impact against his opponent’s chest after a quick step forth thanks to his attack stance, and using both hands that positioned themselves behind the confused man’s knees, he’d keep driving with his head as he pulled the legs, Wiche being completely defenseless and eventually falling on his back on the snow – a beautiful takedown for Wikus.
Wiche was angry. It mattered none – he was a loser, and the losers don’t matter. Standing up, he’d return to the ring. Once again they’d assume their corresponding stances, heads about to collide due to the immediate proximity that required this sport. Even killing was a sport, for some. A grunt served as the beginning of a second round, Wiche still playing defensively as Wikus thought – not only impatient, but also a coward. Wiche usually took everything out in the last occasion, always trying to make up for his doubts. He was certainly more skilled and experienced in wrestling, yet hindered by his weak psychological strength. His motions were more fluid and precise, unlike Wikus’ standard techniques or improvised moves. There was time to perfect his motions. The beginning of the second round was somewhat tense, as none of the two fighters were distracted. Moving around constantly was in play now, trying to adhere to the opponent’s positioning as much as serving as a defense of the strategies that were undergoing in their head. The feet stayed in motion, yet Wiche’s doubts seem to have waned enough for him to attempt a shoot. A shoot was a motion in which an attacker attempts to take the hold of the leading foot of the opponent. Wikus countered this by merely keeping his head in the way as an obstacle, said member being the first line of defense against an attack. It worked for now, and Wikus began planning a strategy that was never to be completed, as Wiche once again attempted a shoot, yet this time using a double feint that Wikus was impossible to predict – the fluid motion being impossible to follow through the eyes of the novice.
Quickly, Wiche wrapped his left arm down Wikus’ right leg as his head pressed against the front of his thigh, locking him in place and began driving forth in order to send him down on his back. Thankfully, Wikus had enough time to do a harsh sprawl, a defense mechanism that relied on the last barrier before the ground: the hips. Without quite being a jump, Wikus would drive his hips forth as he dropped his whole body weight on top of the male’s upper back, which caused the opponent to lose the hold on his leg and therefore allowing Wikus to arch his legs as further back as they could, covering both width and distance as they also flared out until they reached their stretching limit. Wiche couldn’t do a thing now, trapped under the bodyweight of Wikus’ body and furthered by the strength of the core muscles of the man that stood on top. He retreated, and Wikus regained his stance. Height had also an advantage in that department, the sprawl being far more effecting when one had longer limbs. Every inch counted.
Before letting his opponent take the lead thanks to his experience, Wikus went all in. He attempted to get underneath, something his rival wouldn’t let him as his head was blocking his entrance. Their arms joined, somewhat fighting for control on whom had the best grip on the opponent’s triceps, Wikus losing his patience almost immediately to instead back away and harshly push on his rival’s head, a movement perfectly valid yet not that respected. Wiche was slightly pushed back indeed, but he returned to instead manage a collar lock on Wikus – that being his forearm pressing down on Wikus’ back of the neck in order to attempt to push him down. Moving away now would be fatal, even if instinct dictated so. If he was to pull back, the motion of his rival would be even stronger, and he’d be able to pin him down with a head lock. Instead, he used his hips to attempt a drive through onward towards the male, head pressing against the chest which both penetrated the enemy’s defenses and nulled the oppression behind his neck. Using the feet whom pushed him onward, he’d gently shake the male not with the intention to knock him aside, but instead bring on forward his opponent’s left leg – something he hoped for as now, his right leg being the leading, he was able to shoot relatively easy.
Wrapping his right arm down the opponent’s left leg, pressing his shoulder against his hip and, thrusting upward with his legs, he’d pull the rival’s leg off the ground as he himself stood on his both feet. He had two choices now, either push him to the left or to the right. Pushing him to the right would be easily a win – if he didn’t defend himself. He could wrap his feet around him and bring him down to finish with a pin, something he wouldn’t allow. Instead, he chose to push him to the left. Having his leg wrapped up between both arms, doing pressure with his chest on the calf muscle and with his armpit on the ankle, he’d perform a sweeping motion as if he was hurling a rock over his head down to the ground, Wiche falling to the side yet still standing on his one leg, hands going to the snow to stop his fall and push him back up. Perfect. As the rival rose, Wikus’ right foot did too, kicking the back of the knee of the remaining leg of his opponent to send him straight to the ground. A second round for him.
Wrestling was, once again, all about the hips, for they were the last defense and the last attack both. While attacking could be done in many ways, defending could be done in an order. Moving around was first, but it was bound to be ineffective as you cannot really attack and evade at the same time. The heads were the first defense, blocking the enemy’s advance throughout simple presence and annoyance. The second line were the hands that could push or offer some struggle towards the opponent. If they were penetrated, the forearms came next. But after the forearms, only the hips remained to push a man through the attack. Brute force along with patience wielded great rewards for wrestlers. That, and endurance.
They were novices still, and their wrestling was slow. Experts would take any of them down in less than a moment, fights between experts being quick and improvised to the point of losing every breath in a matter of ticks. Both Wikus and Wiche trained wrestling frequently, yet they never spared together or even trained together. Each one of them had different teachers, and different schedules. It was good motivation to keep pushing onward. As the third round was about to begin, a friendly whistle warned them of the situation. It was their turn to bathe in the ashes, as if soon to be born again.
